Aftershocks
by Soheil
Summary: It's kind of hard to appreciate a road trip when you've just defeated the biggest threat to the world. Set in the middle of 2x01
1. Chapter 1

_It's kind of hard to appreciate a road trip when basically everyone in car tried to kill you earlier._

_Gar Logan_

* * *

The countryside whizzed by, open fields blending with dirt roads. They hadn't passed a city just yet, but at the pace Dick was setting, they would be gridlocked in multi-laned highways in no time. Gar watched as a cow stumbled on the side of the road, tripping over its own thin legs. As the car whizzed past, he craned his neck to look back, but they were going too fast to see if it picked itself back up.

They had been driving for a little more than an hour, and already, the fallout from the earlier fight seemed to have set in. Rachel was starting to slump in the shotgun seat, her fingers moving restlessly every few minutes, massaging her chest, then going to touch the jewel on her forehead, then back to her chest again. Dick, to his credit, seemed completely fine, fingers clutching the wheel only a bit too tight, tapping a beat that only he could hear. Gar, himself, was probably the worst off, but that was okay. His body ached in places he didn't know it could, and there was a crick in his neck he couldn't massage out, no matter how many times he rubbed his aching muscles. He made sure not to do it too many times, though. The third time he reached his hand up, his eyes met Dick's in the rear-view mirror. The older man quickly averted his eyes, and Gar dropped his hand as if it had been burned. He stayed stock still for the next few minutes, heart thundering in his ears. Dick kept glancing back in the mirror, eyes still avoiding Gar. Were they being followed or something? He turned back and craned his neck, stretching it out a bit to see if it would help. It didn't. They were alone on the two lane dirt road.

Jason Todd, his usual annoying self, popped from the back, appearing 2 inches from Gar's face. To his credit, Gar managed to not jump away, screaming and flailing. He settled for tensing up and putting some space between them.

"How much longer are we going to be driving for?" Jason complained.

Gar turned exchanged a gleeful look with Rachel, smirking. His face felt a bit stiff, but it was a smile nonetheless. They had promised not to be the first ones to complain about the ride, but now that Jason had said something, all bets were off.

"Yeah, Dick, are we there yet?" Rachel chimed in.

At the same time, Gar leaned over to the front seat and remarked, "I'm getting a bit hungry."

Jason grinned wickedly, catching on.

"I gotta use the bathroom."

"Are we going to stop on the way?"

"Where are we going again, anyway?"

"Are we there yet?"

Dick didn't crack a smile.

"We'll hit a town in the next forty minutes," he said, with a face as serious as Batman's, "we can stop for food and the bathroom then."

Rachel's brow furrowed, and she turned to give Gar a questioning look he couldn't decipher. He just shrugged.

"Forty minutes?" Jason cursed and flopped back into the trunk. For some reason, he had opted to hole himself in the back on the car, rather than share the row with Gar. It wasn't that Gar didn't appreciate the space, but every time he heard Jason moving in the back, it was as if he were back in the house.

Surrounded by friends.

Always alone.

Rachel had stayed, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, and he got her back, even once she had turned.

He owed her everything, and she owed him everything. That put them on even ground, the best place to be in a friendship.

"You alright, Tiger Boy?" Jason asked with something that might have been his own warped version of slight concern, "You're actually looking a little green."

And he was, really. The green tinge that showed up whenever he transformed was slowly getting darker and darker on his skin. Gar swallowed and tried to curb his nausea.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he let out a breath, trying to rein in his powers and his anxiety.

Dick's eyes swept over them again.

"Do I need to pull over?"

Gar shook his head quickly. "No, it's fine. All great in the back. Perfect."

"Speak for yourself, dude!"

Jason pushed him gently on the shoulder, and this time Gar did flinch violently, whacking his head against the back of Rachel's seat.

A loud crack sounded and pain erupted in his skull, coupled with Rachel's shriek.

The car jerked to a stop and all of a sudden-

They were all around him-

oh, God, he was going to die-

"-ar, try to take a deep breath!"

Gar sucked a breath into his burning lungs and began coughing.

punching, and kicking, and the pain-

he couldn't breathe-

hands around his throat-

"Get away from me!" Gar growled, lashing out at the person closest to him. There was a grunt as his leg connected with something, and Gar managed to finally open up his eyes.

He was lying on the side of the road, in a field. The sun seemed far too bright, and it seemed unimaginably quiet. He pulled in another breath of the country air and tried to sit up. Rachel popped up in the side of his vision and placed gentle hands on his chest, holding him down. She offered him a relieved smile, but her eyes were deep and dark, almost like- He bit down on his lip, drawing blood.

"You alright?" she asked.

Gar took another deep breath and nodded, not trusting his voice to crack or something embarrassing like that. He reached a hand up to his head instinctively. There was a small bump on the side of his forehead. Rachel gently pushed his hand down.

"Jason's looking for the first aid kit. Dick says he tossed it in first, so it's probably underneath everything, but it'll be there."

Gar clung to these words, the one connection he had left.

"What- happened?" he rasped.

"You had some sort of attack where you tried to change and couldn't for some reason," Rachel moved her hands from his chest and picked at the grass next to them. "It was like you couldn't breathe- Dick could explain better."

Gar grabbed one of Rachel's hands and took a measured breath. Sitting up this time was easier, even though he hissed when the blood rushed to his head.

"Are you turning into a snake?" Rachel asked anxiously. Gar took one look at her serious face and fell back into the soft grass, laughing.

Rachel rolled her eyes at him, then laughed, too, flopping back on the grass with him. It felt good to be short of breath for a silly reason. A happy one.

When he finally got his breath back back, he turned his head so he could see Rachel.

"What happened?" he repeated.

Rachel stared directly at him. "You hit your head on my seat. Dick thinks you might have a concussion. How many fingers am I holding up?"

She waved two fingers in front of his face until he swatted it away.

"Just two, right?" When Rachel nodded, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "See? I'm fine. Where is Dick, anyway? Usually he's all over us when we get hurt."

Rachel helped Gar sit up and leaned in conspiratorially. "I mean, you did land a pretty good kick on him earlier."

Gar nearly fell back down in surprise.

"I kicked him?" he asked incredulously. He carefully turned his head around, but the nausea from earlier seemed to have stopped. He could make out two figures next to the blurry splotch of the car, which was only about 10 feet away. He blinked again. Maybe his vision was still a bit off.

"You don't remember?" Rachel asked, sounding a bit concerned.

Gar shook his head. "The first thing I remember is just lying on the grass." He gestured to the flattened grass underneath.

She pursed her lips and stared at him, scrutinizing him. Gar just stared at the ground and pulled out a clump of grass.

"I'm going to go ask Dick," she said finally, expression unreadable. Gar sighed, but nodded. He watched her receding back and closed his eyes, still a bit numb from what had happened. Had he blacked out? Had he been attacked? The sensation of hands around his neck started up again, and he opened his eyes, just to ground himself. It didn't help that a pounding headache had started up, throbbing behind his recently acquired bump. His eyes darted back and forth nervously.

"Gar!" Rachel's voice called out, "We're coming over!"

Had her voice always sounded so... Strange? He squinted at the approaching figures, but he couldn't focus, only making out colors and the vague outlines of things. The pale white of Rachel's face came into focus, but it seemed a bit too drawn, a bit frightened. Dick's face swam into view, with dark ink smeared below his eyes.

Gar yelped and stumbled back, tripping over his own feet before he even realized he was standing up.

"Stay back!" he warned, voice sounding pitifully exhausted, "Come any closer and I'll transform!"

Dick set down the case he was holding and stared at him with dead eyes. He lifted his hands up in surrender, but his mouth twisted in a horrible sneer. Rachel seemed more afraid than ever, and she stepped closer to Gar anyway, holding her hand out to him like he was some sort of wounded animal.

"It's okay, Gar," she soothed, "He's just going to take a look at your head."

"Look at his eyes!" Gar shouted hoarsely, "He's tricking us all, he's still with Trigon!"

Rachel still seemed scared, which was odd. If she wasn't afraid of Dick, what was she afraid of?

"I'm not with Trigon," Dick said tiredly, "Rachel killed him, remember?"

The coal black eyes watched Gar as he stared at the grass.

Rachel had killed Trigon, he was pretty sure of it. He couldn't control anyone if he was dead, could he? Dick was clean, he was okay. So why was he staring at Gar with those dead eyes and a wicked expression?

Gar took a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut, then wrenched them open.

Dick's entire features seemed to shift slightly. The only darkness on his face was dark circles underneath exhausted eyes and the side of his face was starting to bruise.

"You're not possessed?" Gar asked cautiously. He kept his eyes open, barely allowing himself to blink. He was so tired of not knowing if things were real or not.

Dick shook his head patiently.

"Can I take a look at your head now?"

Rachel hovered over to the side nervously, while Dick opened the case he was holding and pulled out a bag of ice. "Mini cooler in the back," he explained, handing the bag over, "I'm still getting used to this car. Rachel, would you mind helping Jason with repacking the car?"

She nodded in agreement, throwing an apologetic look back at Gar.

The cold from the bag seemed to seep into Gar's fingers, turning them into icicles. He felt strangely disconnected, as if a gust of wind could knock him down any moment. Dick crouched down next to Gar and tilted his head, apparently checking for bleeding or permanent damage.

Even if there wasn't any, Gar felt terrible. His whole body ached, and he probably had a few new bruises from lying on the side of the road. His vision was blurry, and his ears were starting to ring.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?" Dick asked softly as he brushed his fingers over Gar's forehead. Gar tried to ignore the way the other man's fingers trembled where they got near his face. He tried to concentrate on not flinching when Dick inspected the bump on his forehead. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful on both counts, and Dick pulled his hand back as soon as he could, expression drawn.

"Did that have something to do with what happened in the car?"

Something in Gar snapped.

"Stop acting like you care," he said stiffly, and tried to get up, his sore muscles groaning in protest. Dick froze, his jaw clenching as he stared at a patch of flattened grass.

After a painful silence, he looked up at Gar.

"I care about all of you," he said, a moment too late, watching Gar carefully, as if he expected the boy to burst into shards of glass at any time. Gar just watched him.

The older man swallowed hard. "Gar, I'm sorry."

Gar scoffed and pressed the ice pack to his forehead.

"Yeah, me too."

Some may say to forgive and forget, but he can remember his neck being snapped, remember how it felt to be beaten within an inch of his life.

He stumbled towards the car, leaving Dick Grayson hurt on the ground.

It's still not nearly enough to make up for last time.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's kind of hard to enjoy a road trip when you helped summon your Demon Dad and almost ended the world._

_Rachel Roth_

* * *

It was quiet. Rachel closed her eyes and basked in the silence, letting the side of her head lean against the warming glass of the window.

Slowly, she reached up to touch the jewel on her forehead. The feeling of crystalline solid in her forehead almost didn't feel real. It didn't feel like _her_ forehead.

Suddenly, the back door was thrown open and slammed shut. Gar threw himself down, looking only marginally better than he had outside.

At least he wasn't green anymore. It had looked really strange when he had been cycling between transformations, and his skin had been turning from dark green to pale, and back to green again.

She offered him a smile, looking at his eyes instead of his bruises.

"Where's Dick?"

Almost immediately, Rachel realized that had been entirely the wrong thing to ask. Her best friend's eyes seemed to dull, and he gave an angry shrug.

She frowned, confused, and glanced outside, where Dick was still kneeling on the side of the road.

Jason let out a ridiculous sigh, complete with puffed cheeks and a roll of his eyes. Rachel had actually forgotten that he had been in the back area.

"I'll go get him," the older boy vaulted over the seats and was out the door before either she or Gar could react.

Instead, she turned so she could look at Gar properly. Her chest hitched painfully, but then the ache was gone, as if it had never been there.

"So how are your bruises?" Rachel asked awkwardly after a second.

Gar let out a small laugh, a bit of the old humor returning to his eyes.

"They hurt," he grinned at her, "But I probably got more when you guys dragged me out of the car."

Rachel winced. "I can heal them if you want," she offered, feeling exhausted even at the idea of it, then feeling ashamed for feeling tired. She owed Gar so much. There was no way she could refuse to heal him.

Instead, he shook his head, rubbing the back of his hair uncomfortably. "I'd better not, thanks."

Rachel leaned back quickly. "Oh. Sorry." She understood, really. If she was Gar, she wouldn't want to demon girl to touch her either.

"No, it's not like that, Rach," he reassured quickly, "We'll take a day at a time. When you feel up to it, you can heal me, but not right now."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "They're just bruises."

Rachel looked up sharply and met his eyes. "No, they aren't."

She reached over the headrest and placed her hand on his arm. He didn't pull away, but instead gave her a quick nod and tensed himself up. Rachel took that as a good sign. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and plunged herself into her mind. Her power was a swirling mass of darkness, and it occurred to her that maybe healing Gar with what hurt him wasn't the best thing.

Then, rapidly, the power rushed through her fingers like water through a burst pipe, rushing over the car. She gasped, and peeled open her dry eyes. Gar froze under the sphere of darkness, and she could hear voices. She couldn't tell if they were coming from outside the car or from the cloud of black. The gem in her forehead seemed to light up, searing her head with heat. In that short time, her forehead felt like it was burning up.

Rachel reflexively clenched her fist, and the darkness congealed into a smaller ball above them and disappeared. Her forehead cooled a bit, but something still felt uncertain and feverish.

They were both left breathing hard, staring at the empty ceiling.

"Sorry," Rachel whispered after a moment, pressing her hand down on her chest below her left shoulder. Her chest hurt, and Gar's bruises hadn't really faded at all.

Gar nodded and tried for a smile, but it was weak. He leaned forward in his seat, burying his face in his hands, and Rachel felt much like doing the same.

The car door opened at that exact second, and suddenly Rachel was hit with such a wall of emotion that she gasped out loud. A mixture of worry, guilt, and pain wormed itself into her mind before she could realize it wasn't her own.

"You two okay?" Dick asked hoarsely, and she couldn't get out a word, because of the weight pressing down on her chest.

Gar snorted and said, "Of course, we're _fine_."

A wave of pain floated through her skull, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to scream or climb under a rock and hide for a hundred years.

Dick was still watching the both of them and Rachel wanted to shrink under his gaze. She still managed to meet his eyes and nod uncertainly.

As quickly as it came, the emotions melted away, and she was left with an aching head and heart. She barely heard Jason get into the car. He was talking non-stop about something that didn't matter, and Rachel's head was splitting open, so she couldn't help turning around and saying, "Jason, can you _shut up_ for once?"

Hurt eyes met with hers for a second, but before she could mumble some sort of half-hearted apology, he gave her a rude hand gesture and ducked behind the back seat, settling down angrily.

She turned back in a huff, expecting Dick to give her an expression of reproach. Instead, though, his face was entirely blank. It was almost as if someone had made a really good mask of his face and pulled it into the most neutral mask they could.

"Uh... Dick?" she started, "Are we just going to stay here?"

Dick let out a shallow breath and nodded. "Everyone ready to go?"

There was only silence from the back. Jason was still out of sight and Gar had his face pressed against the window, eyes closed. Something in his posture told her that he wasn't asleep, but she got why he didn't want to talk. She didn't feel much like doing it herself.

After the awkward quiet dragged on for a second more, Rachel realized Dick was waiting for an answer.

"Let's just go," she muttered. She copied Gar's posture, leaning against the door. Strangely, she didn't feel that sleepy. Somehow, it felt deeper, a bone tired exhaustion that a nap in the car couldn't fix. She felt her chest twinge violently, just as the car jolted into motion, thankfully masking her gasp of pain.

She hated feeling like this. Feeling like there was something wrong with her, something wrong _inside_ her. She had felt like that all her life, before she met Dick, Kory, and Gar. They had _accepted _her, and now, there was something new, something that she didn't recognize in herself.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror and couldn't hold back her gasp. _She could see herself in the mirror. _For a second, she couldn't help but gape at her own reflection. It was the first time in a long, long time she had seen herself in a reflection where her eyes weren't bleeding black and her lips were curled into a bloodless smirk. Instead, she was met with clear blue eyes, a pale face, and the gem, smoldering in her forehead. Even her hair seemed to have changed, becoming lighter and more curled. Her hand reached up, almost of its own volition, brushed over the gemstone, tugged at her hair.

"We're almost at the next town," Dick whispered, breaking the silence, "I don't know if we should wake up the boys."

She dropped her hands to her lap and twisted them together. Glancing in the back, she noticed Gar sprawled awkwardly against the car door, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. She still couldn't see Jason. "Where are we going?" she asked, leaning forward to look at the road. She didn't want to look at the mask on Dick's face anymore, "Are we just going to keep driving till we reach the coast?"

Dick moved his right shoulder up in a half-shrug. "There's a pit stop we have to make before that."

"Wait," Rachel paused, "We're actually driving all the way to the coast? Are we just going to keep driving until we find some place to stay?"

Dick took one hand off the wheel to run a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

"We're going to San Francisco," he said after a moment. For some reason, the way he said the city sounded pained.

"What's in San Francisco?" she immediately asked, turning to the left.

Dick swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and turned to her. "Rachel, I-"

"Dick, _watch the road!_" Jason popped up from the back seat, looking furious. Dick's eyes widened and he whipped his head back towards the road, swerving just barely to avoid a car that had been coming in the opposite direction. Rachel screamed as the car careened towards the side of the road, coming to a stop just before it could hit a sturdy wooden fence. Gar, who had woken up, immediately turned green, and growled, his teeth lengthening into long canines. Once the car had stopped moving, though, his teeth shifted back inward, and he winced, rubbing at his jaw. He opened and closed it experimentally a few times, but didn't seem to be capable of speaking yet.

On the other hand, Jason was.

"What the _hell _was that?" he demanded from behind them, popping up from the trunk. Dick took a shaky breath of air and lowered his hands from the wheel, clenching them together to avoid them from shaking.

"I'm sorry," Dick breathed, "I'm sorry, I don't-"

His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror, eyes flicking between things only he could see.

"Gar, Jason, you two okay back there?"

Gar let out a laugh, slightly hysterical. "_You_ almost crashed the car, and you're asking _us _if we're okay?"

Rachel just stared into her lap, chest growing tighter and tighter. Jason just snorted in disgust and slid back down to his position where they couldn't see him. Gar patted himself down and nodded to himself, as if categorizing all his injuries. He caught her watching him and raised an eyebrow, clearly asking if she was okay. She nodded, and smiled, trying to shake the horrible feeling that this was all her fault.

Dick just closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and pulled the car back on the road. His hands were wrapped tightly around the wheel,and his eyes were locked on the road.

Needless to say, she stopped asking questions after that. They whizzed past the town as the sun dipped lower in the sky. It was hard to remember what life was like yesterday, or even a few hours ago. Yesterday felt so long ago. Even _now_ felt so long ago. She felt like she was watching herself from somewhere above.

The sky blossomed into beautiful oranges and pinks, painting the sky in brightness, as if to make up for the darkness of earlier. She remembered watching sunsets like these with Melissa, camped out on the front porch, waiting for the stars to come out.

Melissa was gone now, though. So was her mother, and Trigon. She was an orphan now, actually, for the first time in her life. No mom, no parents. Everything she had done in the first thirteen years of her life had basically been erased. No one at her school would remember her. Her house would probably be sold, along with whatever things she hadn't taken when she had ran from home.

She'd never get to see it again. Her life hadn't been all bad, so far. When she was living with her mo-Melissa, there had been days where they had been afraid of the demon inside of her, but there had also been days where they had been happy. _Happy, and at home._

She wasn't sure how things would be now. She still had Gar and Dick, but Kory was gone, and they would probably leave her, too.

Just like everyone else did.

Light fingers tapped against her shoulder gently, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"You okay?" Dick whispers, his hand returning to the wheel as his eyes flicked between the road and Rachel.

She just nodded, and forced a smile. "Of course." She kept her eyes firmly in front of her.

Dick turned to look at her again and stared for so long she started to squirm. For some reason, his gaze was completely indecipherable to her, and she couldn't read his emotions with or without her powers.

"Dick, just watch the road, it's even darker now," she sighed and turned back to the window.

"Okay," he said softly, "I just want to let you know that I know how it feels."

Rachel scoffed, a strange disconnected anger filling her. "Really? Do you actually?" she glared at him, not even bothering to keep her voice down, "How many times have you almost ended the world and gotten all of your friends possessed?"

The words tumbled out in a hurry, tripping to get out of her mouth, and she can feel her power storming inside of her. She feels exhausted, like a sand wall battered by the tides.

Dick's grip on the steering wheel tightened a little bit more, and he muttered something she couldn't hear. Then he spoke louder, though still in a whisper,

"I meant having to watch your parents die in front of you. That-"

"They weren't my parents," she forced out, voice cracking on the last syllable, "Don't _ever _say that again."

She turned back to the window and opened it, the soft whirring drowning out his response. She didn't even notice when the gem on her forehead lit up to a dim glow, as the air rushed in to soothe their wounds.

* * *

**Next chapter: Jason's fears catch up with him**

**Also, I watched the most recent episode of Titans and I am not okay. D:**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

_It's kind of hard to enjoy a road trip when no one wants you near them anyway._

_Jason Todd_

* * *

Jason had been staring blankly at the wall of the car for nearly two hours before he had realized that he was doing it. There's a ringing in his ears, even still, and his eyes are itchy. A cool air brushes over his face, but it's not fresh enough to soothe his nerves. If he looked in a mirror, he wouldn't like what he would see. He reaches up to his face, as if almost in a trance, but snaps out of it when he feels smooth fabric. His mask.

It's only then that he realizes that he's still Robin, complete with cape and body armor.

Well, he's wearing the Robin uniform. He can never be sure if he's still Robin, especially without Bruce's commands.

After all, who's Robin without Batman?

At the thought, his eyes flick up to the front and his thoughts start racing. Carefully, deliberately, he redirects his attention to back window and pulls off his domino mask in one smooth motion. The uniform feels heavy on his shoulders, weighing down his chest. Or maybe that's just him. He's never been one to dwell on the types of feelings that make his stomach churn. He knows he messed up, and all that matters is that he gets out of this situation and back to something he can control.

Back to Robin and Batman, back to Gotham, back to night patrols and early morning cocoa. Back to some semblance of a normal life for a vigilante.

Back home.

Another rush of cool air washes over him, and he breathes it in, closing his eyes and pretending he's perched on top of a building, watching for the Bat-signal. Rachel's stuck her head out the window, pointedly ignoring Dick, who looks like he's been kicked in the stomach. Jason doesn't care about what's going on between them, as long as Dick can take him back where he belongs. He's long past trusting adults to help him, but this is _Dick Grayson, _original Boy Wonder and Bruce's favorite. He'd understand.

Rachel hates him, he's pretty sure of it, and he can't really blame her. She called him to help so Batman could save them, but instead, she got a failed Robin who had fallen to the Dark Side as soon as the demon had looked at him. Most people hated him as soon as they met him, and he was too good at adding reasons to that. Not to even mention the fact that he had almost killed Gar, and- he let his gaze drift up to the front seat. The hallucination Trigon had put him in had been messed up, but whatever monster he had killed with Bruce's gun- that hadn't been Dick, had it? Had Robin been in there, screaming for help, when Jason shot him?

He swallows hard, pressing the mask to his throbbing forehead. In his mind, he went over the things he knew. He wasn't some inexperienced kid, he could get a hold over himself. Before he managed to do that, though, he felt the car swerving again. He checks behind them anxiously, but the road is dark as far as the eye can see. Not even the glare of distant headlights

"Dick, why are we slowing?" Jason asked, raising an eyebrow, "We need to get to Gotham, like, right now."

Dick snorted, but there was no humor in his voice when he spoke. "I'm trying not to crash the car," he muttered, "Coffee tends to help that, so we're making a pit stop. You want anything?"

It took Jason a moment to realize Dick was talking to him, and not Rachel or Gar.

"I want to get to Gotham, but you can get me a Coke," Jason rolled his eyes. Even when sleep deprived and exhausted, of course the golden Robin would help other people. It was easy to resent him for that, but Jason felt too exhausted even for resentment. Dick sent him a short nod that Jason guessed was answer, and said nothing in response.

The car merges into the exit, slowing and coming to a complete stop at a red light. The glow covers their faces with red, throwing their features into sharp focus. Normally, Jason doesn't mind red lights. He found them as annoying as the next person when he was out on a drive (completely legal) and stupid when he sped past them in the Batmobile (maybe not that legal). But now, the red was blending in with his suit, and it was all over the car, all over the floors, all over the seats. His boots were soaked with it. He held up his hands only to find that they were covered in blood (just red light, just red light) and let out a shudder. He couldn't move, as he brought his hands closer to his face and-

The light turned green.

Jason sagged to the floor in relief, not even bothering to hide his drawn out sigh. The others ignore him, as always, but he doesn't mind. He's not one of them anyway. He needs to get to Gotham, as soon as he could. Sitting here, he's just the glorified chaperone for two kids who wouldn't know the difference between an attack and a retreat if it slapped them across the face. Back home, he could be _useful_. He could keep crime off the streets, help people like him, and be _Robin_.

He isn't much good as Jason Todd anyway.

* * *

Dick pulls into a parking spot in the back corner of the gas station, an area with almost no light with a good view of the shop entry, as well as the road back to the highway. If they had wanted to steal from the convenience store instead of buying from it, this would be the perfect spot.

Instead of doing the perimeter checks that Bruce would have ordered them to do, Dick just glances in the rearview mirror, checks on Rachel, who seemed to have fallen asleep, and then turns around and made eye contact with Jason.

"Five minutes. I'll be back. Keep the car safe."

Before Jason can open his mouth to say otherwise, the door had open and shut, and Dick was already hurrying towards the store.

Jason waits two seconds, then follows him.

Even before he gets halfway across the parking lot, Dick turns around and glares at him. Jason hadn't so much as scraped the asphalt with his boots, but instead of turning tail, he continues on, walking past Dick as if he doesn't see him. _Remember, he's much better at detecting surveillance than you are, _his brain reminds him, _Much better at fighting because he almost killed you. Much better at getting people to like him._

"What are you doing out here?" Dick whispers through clenched teeth, walking with him, "I told you to wait in the car."

"Maybe I just didn't feel like staying in the car," Jason smirks, feeling triumphant, "You're not Bruce, you can't give me orders."

The older boy pulls them both into the darkness by a dumpster behind the building. There's a security camera on the back of the building that winks at him, red blinking light taunting him.

Dick runs a hand over his face. "Jason, look down at yourself."

Jason crosses his arms instead. He wasn't covered in the red light anymore, but he had no desire to think about the events of the past day. He just needed that camera to stop blinking at him, to go inside the convenience store, get a phone, and call Bruce.

"Jason, you're Robin."

"Hell yeah, I'm Robin! What does that have to do with anything?"

Dick looks like he wants to collapse from exhaustion, but he still gives Jason a tired laugh that sounds pleasant enough, but sets Jason on edge. The red light blinks at him, and suddenly, Jason can't take it anymore. A throwing star falls into his hand, and he's whipped it at the camera before Dick even realizes what's going on. The camera shatters in a spray of sparks and glass, making far more noise than it should.

"Jason!" Dick whispers furiously, "Why-"

"Camera," Jason reports, "Watching us, I don't think there's any more."

The older Robin lets out an exasperated sigh. "Wait here," he says, "I'll be back in a minute. Don't sneak after me, I'll come back to get you."

"Bu-"

"Do you trust me?" Dick asks with wide earnest eyes. It's interesting how he can make himself look so open, yet be so closed at the same time.

Jason stares right back at him and shakes his head. "Not one bit."

"That's okay," Dick agrees, too quickly, "I'm going to get some clothes for you, and make sure no one heard that, okay?" He walks over to the camera, or rather, the pieces of it, and picks out the throwing star. With a second glance to Jason, he pockets the blade, and walks away.

Jason shivers a bit and frowns. Clothes? What does he need clothes for?

He looks down at himself and curses colorfully. If Alfred had been here, he'd have washed Jason's mouth out with soap.

If leaving Gotham with the Titans hadn't convinced Bruce that Jason wasn't good enough, walking into a convenience store in full costume definitely would have.

* * *

_Irresponsible,_ a voice supplied in his ear, _Paying attention to the wrong details, didn't listen to orders-_

"That is your t-shirt, right?" Dick asks mildly, "I wasn't sure if it were yours or Gar's."

"Yeah," Jason paused in front of the door, spotting a pay phone outside the building, "You got any quarters?"

Dick frowned and patted his pockets down, but there was only a single credit card, and a bit of dust.

He rubs the back of his head embarrassed as he held open the door for Jason, and glances back towards the car, where Rachel and Gar hadn't even stirred.

Jason wonders the last time someone's showed him that much concern.

They have a clear view of the entrance from the counter where they order their drinks, two black coffee, tea, and a Coke. It's clear that no one comes to this store even when the road is crowded, which must be once a year, or something like that. There are literal cobwebs in the ceiling corners that the manager struggled to sweep away when he heard them come in.

After placing their order, Dick makes a beeline for the ATM, which surprisingly still worked. He doesn't seem too worried about using his credit card, but Jason guessed that an ancient alien demon… thing wouldn't exactly be able to track their payments. He returned quickly, just as their drinks were arriving. The wad of bills in his hand seemed slightly suspicious, but he stuffed it out of sight before the manager noticed it.

Dick grabbed one of the coffee cups and picked up the sugar dispenser. As Jason watched in confusion, he gave the sugar a slight sniff, nodded slightly, and dumped the entire contents of the dispenser in the cup. Jason made a face at him, and Dick laughed, tired but cheery. He took a sip of the other black coffee.

"Rachel drinks it with a truckload of sugar," he explained quickly.

Jason nodded and looked away, his eyes burning slightly. He swallowed hard and held out his hand.

"Can I have the quarters now?"

* * *

Jason drums his left hand against the top of the pay phone to the rhythm to a Metallica song

as his right shakily punches in the number to Bruce's personal cell. He memorized the numbers the first time Bruce told him, as a guarantee, a promise. He could recite them backwards, in Spanish, while concussed, so the numbers definitely hadn't slipped his mind now.

He needs Bruce to tell him that he did the right thing, helped when Batman couldn't, that he would still be able to be Robin. To live.

He wracks up the courage to press the call button, hope quickly draining out of him when the number rings once, twice, then a third time. No, Bruce had said he would pick up. He always picks up.

The call rings out, and Jason stands there dumbly with the phone in his hand for a second before he springs back into action, placing two more quarters into the slot and dialing again. His heart pounds in his throat as the number rings again. _Once, twice.._Jason slams it down onto the receiver again and slides in two more coins, dialing the only other number that could possibly help.

Before the first ring ends, there was a click as the call was picked up on the other side.

"Hello?" a proper and familiar voice speaks, crackly with static. Jason wants to cry in relief, but he settles for wiping a sleeve sloppily over his eyes and smiling.

"Alfred!"

"Master Jason, it's ever so good to hear from you again. Can we expect you back soon?" Even through the terrible connection, the warmth in the butler's voice was tangible.

Jason clears his throat and tries speaking. "Actually, I need to speak to Bruce, is he there?"

There was an expectant pause, and Jason shifts the phone in his hands, cursing the spotty connection in his head. Then, Alfred sighs and Jason's heart sinks.

His voice seems tired as he tells Jason, "I'm afraid Master Bruce isn't available right now. But-"

Jason clenches his jaw and slams the phone back on the receiver. He sits down beneath the phone, on the slightly damp curb, silently fuming to himself. Bruce wasn't available? Wasn't _available?_

"You hung up on Alfred?" Dick asks, behind him, "That's low."

Jason turns around slowly, his breath coming fast. He doesn't know how long the golden Robin had been standing there, but he did know that it was _none of his business._

"I don't want to go to San Francisco. I want to go back home."

Dick raises his eyebrows. "What, back to the mansion? No thanks."

He turns his back on Jason, towards the car, but Jason grabs his shoulder and whirls him around. "Bruce needs me!" Jason protests, hating how his voice sounded, hating that he looked like he was begging, "I'm Robin! I don't care who you are, but I need to go there! If you don't want to take me, fine, I'll hitchhike or something."

Something dark crosses Dick's expression and Jason nearly takes a step back. He's never seen anyone look so… betrayed.

"Bruce needs you?" Dick scoffs, "News flash, Bruce doesn't need _any of us_. He didn't even pick up your call!"

The words hurt like a crowbar, smashing against his skull, more than anything because they were true.

Seeing red, Jason growls, and takes a wild swing at Dick. As always, Dick is smarter, faster, _better_ than he was and dodges the punch as if it were nothing.

"Jason-"

"No!" Jason threw another punch that connected with Dick's shoulder. The older Robin didn't even budge, "You don't get to act like this, this is all your fault!"

Dick sighs and loosens his posture. He holds up his hands, a clear sign of surrender and sits down on the curb. It would have been easier if he had been angry. Bruce had taught him how to use his opponents' emotions against them, give him the upper hand. Dick just looked tired and sort of blank.

Jason collapses on the curb next to him, running his fingers over the last of the quarters.

"I thought you said we were going to Gotham."

Dick stares at the slightly damp pavement as if it were the most interesting patch of ground in the world.

"I wanted to, when we left, but I don't know, Jason," Dick folds his hands carefully together, "I'll make sure you get there, I'm sorry for losing my temper. I just don't think I should be there for it."

"But why can't you go to meet Bruce? Or even just go to Gotham?" Jason hates how small his voice sounds, like a bird in front of a lion.

"Because I screwed up!" Dick shouts. His voice echoed around the parking lot, and there was a strangled sort of quality to it that made Jason feel a little bit sick to his stomach. "Because I was there, and I screwed up, and all of you could have died!"

"That's what I do every day!" Jason glares back, "You can't stop me from being Robin. I go out there and risk my life every night because _that's what we do_. You don't get to _abandon-_" He cut himself off, heart pounding in his chest as Dick looks at him with a dangerous look in his eyes.

For the first time, he could see why Bruce had taken Dick in, made him Robin.

Dick looks exactly like Batman.

"I _abandoned-?_" Dick asks quietly, dangerously, "What do you think I _abandoned_? Bruce? Robin? Because let me tell you, they aren't wor-"

"Yourself!" Jason's hands were shaking slightly, but he clenches them together as he continued on. "You abandoned yourself!"

"Yeah," Dick agrees suddenly, "Yeah, you're right, I did."

He looks at Jason with unreadable eyes and jerks his head to the side. "Come on, let's get back to the car."

"What?"

Jason scrambles up as Dick stands, drinks in a holder clutched in one hand, car keys in another.

"We've got to make a stop in Gotham." He offers Jason a weak grin, and it's not enough. It's the first time that the first Robin hasn't been enough.

It's not an apology, but it's a promise, and Jason doesn't care.

He's going home.

* * *

**Happy Holidays, everyone! If you enjoyed this chapter, please drop a review :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_It's kind of hard to enjoy a road trip when you've broken everything you valued for the third time._

_Dick Grayson_

He's going home.

The thought hangs heavy in his mind, obscuring everything else. Even Trigon's defeat seems to pale in comparison. Everytime he thinks about the demon, there's a slight sick feeling in his stomach, and screams flash through his mind. The thought of seeing Bruce seems worse somehow, though. Every time his adoptive father's name crosses his mind, he hears the crunch of bones beneath his feet, and his stomach threatens to revolt.

He's gotten good at setting his thoughts aside, though, so he focuses on the road. It's something he'd done many times as Robin, and even more times after. Set the painful things aside, because you can get to those later. There'll always be more time for that, and less than 24 hours ago, all they needed to do was _survive. _But the time for survival is over now, and he has all the time in the world. He doesn't want that. He thinks back to the maps he glanced over in the gas station, trying to remember if there was a motel in the area.

Beside him, Rachel is sipping her coffee lightly, still looking outside. She hasn't spoken to him since their disastrous conversation about parents and barely even looked at him when he passed her the ridiculously sweet coffee. Through the rearview mirror, he can see Gar sitting stock still, clutching his styrofoam cup of tea as if its his last connection to the living world. Behind him, Jason is slumped against the side wall, his mouth slightly open. Dick's glad that at least one of them could sleep now. And Jason needs the rest. They all do.

He makes a split second decision, gently maneuvering the car into the exit. He hadn't gotten a good look at the service sign before he turned, but he was 70% sure that there was a motel, or a hotel somewhere in the area. Even at the speed he was driving, there would be no way they could make it to Gotham tonight. After all, he had driven nearly five hours in the wrong direction, and had barely made up one.

He glances at Jason again, asleep in the back seat. He could turn around now, and the others probably wouldn't tell the other kid. They'd be more than halfway to the tower before Jason realized, and by then, he'd have no choice but to stay with him.

But Jason was a Robin, and Bruce wouldn't have chosen him for nothing. Even if there was nothing else alike about the two of them, they definitely shared the same stubbornness. Even if they made it to San Francisco and locked him up, it wouldn't surprise anyone to see him in Gotham a day later. Driving there would just make sure that the younger boy didn't get hurt. And if Dick is being honest, he isn't in that much of a rush to get to the Tower either. He could start the new Titans there, train Rachel and Gar to be better than he was, but it still held so many memories of Jericho and Garth, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face them.

Startled, he gives a surprised snort. He'd have to be the only person in the country that ruined his life on the West Coast _and_ the East Coast. It wouldn't hurt to stay on course, but it would take all day tomorrow, even if they did get an early start. It would probably be better to stop for the night, rest up, and leave early.

The dim lights of an Econo-Lodge popped up in the distance, and he has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of relief. At this point, he's so out of it that he wouldn't even mind sleeping on the side of the road in the car, but the kids deserved to sleep in a bed tonight.

When he pulls into the parking lot, everyone seems to stir, just a little. Jason yawns, and then looks around frantically, his muscles tensing. Gar stretches like a cat, and then winces, giving Dick a sick feeling in his stomach, but he pushes past it and opens his door, letting the night air rush into the car.

"We're stopping for the night," he explains rather uselessly, but everyone still listens, so there's that, "I'll grab the bag with all our spare clothes, but everything else we can grab in the morning. We'll want to leave early, too."

Jason yawns, and when he speaks, his voice is still heavy with sleep. "We're not staying for the continental breakfast?"

"Not if you want to get to Gotham," Dick snaps, and then instantly regrets it as the other boy closes his mouth firmly shut. Dick knows he needs to sleep. He's on edge, rude, and kind of cold, to be honest, and he never wanted to hurt any of them, he had just wanted to help them, he swears.

So he shuts up and hefts a duffel bag from the trunk, filled with spare clothes and toothbrushes and a few weapons. He has his staff collapsed and split, each portion strapped to his calves, so if they get into a fight, he'll be able to take an opponent down in seconds. He's prepared.

The kids trail behind him as he enters the motel office, blinking exhaustedly at their surroundings. As the door swings shut behind them, the receptionist gives them a quick look, and then does a double take. Dick winces. He'd learned to try to not attract much attention, but what was done was done.

"Four singles, please," he gives the man a polite smile that's more than a little forced. The man quits gaping and checks the desktop in front of him. Rachel sidles up next to him, and for a moment, he thinks she was going to say something, but then she just takes another step forward, inspecting the jar of hard candies on the desk.

"Four singles?" the receptionist frowns at his computer and glances back at them, looking them up and down. Dick can't even imagine how strange they must seem. A green-haired boy with bruises all over his face, a blue haired girl with a jewel embedded in her forehead, a spiky-haired boy who was asleep on his feet, and _him_. He wonders if the man could see the blood on his hands, the trail they had left behind.

It didn't help that he didn't have the best track record with receptionists.

"I'm afraid we don't have any singles left," the man says, looking at him not unapologetically, "Lots of people flew in to go to the River Bend film festival and they've taken up most of our rooms."

He pointed to a brochure rack featuring the festival, and Dick files that information away. _River Bend. They were in Indiana. Twelve hours from Gotham._

"Right," Dick replies awkwardly, "That's what we're here for too. Got a bit held up on the road." He tries to sell it with a smile. The receptionist seems unconvinced, but he nods anyway.

"We do have two doubles, if you and your…" he pauses for a moment, looking a bit lost, "your children are willing to share. What name should I book them under?"

"Grayson," he says, sighing, and hands over the cash he had pulled from the atm at the gas station. They weren't on the run from anything, but he'd decided to leave a minimal credit card trail, anyway. Old habits die hard.

The situation is hardly ideal, with Gar jumping at every move he made, Rachel avoiding his gaze, and Jason looking shellshocked, but they'd just have to make do. He can't blame any of them, though. He feels the same way, but he has to remember. Nothing is chasing them. They are safe.

_You're never safe, Robin, _a familiar voice whispers in his ear, but he's too used to it to turn around. He already knows he'd only see open air.

The doubles will have to do for now. The man hands two hotel keys to him with a frown, and opens up a drawer, slowly and deliberately.

Dick tenses, and leans forward slightly, adopting a wider stance. Jason has joined Rachel at the candy jar, and they are rooting through it, taking far more than was polite. Gar hangs back, eyes darting from the door to the desk. Thankfully, though, the receptionist says nothing, and just hands him his change

"We hope you enjoy your stay. Breakfast starts at five, ice is in the machine in the laundry room." He eases back in his seat and pulls out his phone, "Please let me know if you need anything else." He gives one final glare towards the candy jar, then retreats to the little room in the back.

Rachel pops a grape candy into her mouth, and hands an apple one to Gar, who takes it, but doesn't unwrap it. They turn back and look at him after a moment.

"Aren't we going to the rooms?" Rachel asks, breaking the silence.

Dick lets out a breath, shaking himself out of the trance that seems to have come over him.

"Yeah, yeah," he looks down at the keys, "We got lucky, it's two rooms next to each other. We're going to pair off."

"I'll room with Gar," Rachel says quickly, "He probably wouldn't be able to sleep well around either of you."

Dick knows she's not trying to be intentionally cruel, but he looks away at that, guilt making it hard to swallow. Surprisingly, it is Jason who speaks up.

"That's probably not the best idea, Rachel," he says, his tone surprisingly devoid of all sarcasm and snark, "I know we're not planning on being attacked, but we should have at least one fighter in each room."

Rachel scoffs, and the air in the room seems to drop a few degrees. If Dick's not seeing things, the gem in her forehead is glowing slightly. "I'm a fighter. None of you could do anything against Trigon, and I'm the one that killed him!"

"Keep your voice down!" Dick hisses, glancing nervously at the back room. He doesn't know if the receptionist is listening in, and all of a sudden, panic sets in. Trigon's gone, but he had followers. Rachel's mom couldn't have been the only person taken in. There could be a mass of people, closing in on them right now, and they'd be powerless to stop it, because they're too busy licking their own wounds, and fighting amongst each other. Because Trigon broke him too much to be able to keep the other together.

Gar starts to speak, but Dick cuts him off, glaring at each of the kids in turn. They all seem to shrink a bit.

"Rachel, you're with me. Gar-" he tosses the key to the green-haired boy, "-you're with Jason. No arguments."

They all stare at him for a second, then move as if on autopilot, and Dick is worried, really worried, that he's broken something really valuable, something even the Wayne fortune can't afford. He's already broken himself, over and over again.

He can't break them, too.

Their rooms are all on the ground floor, thank goodness, because he doesn't honestly think he's up to walking up a flight of stairs. Rachel takes the room closest to the end, closing the door behind her without another word, so the boys file into the room next to it.

He watches from the door as Jason drops onto the bed nearest to the door and waves a hand in Dick's vague direction. A ghost of a smile crosses Gar's face, and he nods to Dick.

"We're good." His voice is tired, but there's a vein of confidence behind it. Dick nods, tosses some toiletries on the little desk along with some clothes, and leaves a few throwing stars on Jason's side of the night stand.

"I'll come check up on you in the morning," Dick promises, then shuts the door behind him.

The duffel bag is lighter now, and the wind has picked up a bit, shifting it around in his grasp. For the first time in a long time, he's alone. It feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but there's a lump in his throat he can't seem to swallow past. It should be easy, to walk into his room, collapse on the bed, and sleep till morning, but all of a sudden, he _can't._ He just _can't_.

He drops the duffel on the ground and slides down the wall so he's sitting right next to it, he knows he's breathing too fast, knows this is some sort of a panic attack, a delayed reaction from the fight earlier that day. He knows what Bruce would say if he was here, but for moment, he allows himself to accept it.

He did this, all of it. Trigon would have never grown so strong if he hadn't been so weak. He had failed all of them, and hurt all of them. And the worst part? He honestly still doesn't think he could have found a way around it. Every time around, he would have killed Bruce, he would have become a monster, and the world would have ended.

He feels like he should do something about that, cry, scream,or even fix himself. Instead, all that comes out is a pathetic whimper and he drops his head in his hands. He doesn't have the energy to do this. Outside, a light rain has begun to fall, just beyond the awning that he is sitting under. He has the strangest urge to just - stop. He'd had this whole grand plan about taking Rachel and Gar to San Francisco, giving them a home, training them to be better than him.

But why would they ever want to have a home with someone who'd tried to kill them? With someone so much weaker than anybody, in body and spirit? He couldn't provide for the two of them with the last of his personal funds, and the mere thought of Bruce made his stomach churn, so asking for money was out of the question.

If he was being honest with himself, the best thing he could do was leave them all here. He could leave the keys in the duffel outside the room, it wasn't like anyone would steal it. Jason would take them to Gotham, and maybe Bruce would take them in, or help them. He could disappear, make it to another country, live his own life. He could leave everything he had broken and not look back.

It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

They would be better off without them.

The door next to him slams open just as he stands up, and Rachel steps out into the rain, giving him a questioning look. He tries not to look too guilty.

"Are you okay?" she asks with such sincerity in her voice that Dick wants to tell her everything. She's clearly still mad at him, but she looks more concerned than angry right now. He would have guessed that she was reading his mind, but the gem in her forehead remained dark, and her eyes were still a clear blue-green.

He nods and finds his voice. "I just wanted to drop this in the car. Go ahead and go to sleep, I'll be back in a minute."

She stares at him for a second, eyes narrowing, then swallows, and gives him a hug. Dick's arms wrap around her automatically, and for a second he feels so _old. _Rachel fits easily in her arms, and she's shivering a bit, but she holds on for dear life, so he does, too.

After a moment, she pulls away, giving him a small smile. "You'll be right back?" she confirms.

Dick nods, his throat too dry to speak. He waits until Rachel closes the door behind her before he turns around and heads towards the car. He's in two minds now, but even as he nears the car, he doesn't know what he'll do. When he reaches into his pocket for his keys though, his fingers brush against crinkly plastic, and he knows what he's going to do.

He pulls what he had felt out of his pocket and inspects it; it's a strawberry candy, freshly poached from the motel clerk.

His keys aren't in his pocket, and he has the sense to feel shame coating the pit of his stomach, caused by the fact that he hadn't noticed, but worse, that Rachel had expected it. His hair is plastered to his forehead, wet with rainwater, but he just shoulders the duffel again and heads back to the room. He stands in the doorway for a moment, and raises an eyebrow at Rachel, who has already settled beneath the covers of the bed closest to the door. She points her chin in the direction of the side table on her side, where the keys lie, glinting innocently under the dusty light.

"I wasn't going to leave," he lies.

Rachel nods. "I know you didn't _want _to." Her eyes follow him as he pulls off his shoes and collapses on the other bed, wincing as an old spring pokes him in the back. The water from his hair drips onto his pillow, and his clothes are a bit gross, to be honest, but sleep is pulling his eyelids down like they're sandbags, and he's asleep before Rachel turns off the light.

Trapped in his own mind.

* * *

**Sorry for disappearing for a bit, the next chapter will be Dick's perspective as well. The story'll probably have 3 or maybe 4 more chapters. Who knows? :)**

**If you enjoyed this, please comment or favorite! Thanks so much for reading. ~S**


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning for Death in this chapter (In a dream), nothing too graphic**

* * *

_It's kind of hard to enjoy a road trip until you remember what you're fighting for._

-Dick_ Grayson_

He's on the high wire this time. His parents always let him go on it, but only with their permission. Both the stage area and the mount were both deserted. He'd always felt more comfortable on the trapeze (after all, where was a Grayson more comfortable than in the air?), but as always, his practiced reflexes seemed to stretch as he launched himself into a run onto the wire.

Completing his move with a flip, he grins at the crowd.

Except there's no one in the crowd (why is that a surprise?), but there are two lumps on the ground below him, covered with a white sheet. That…can't be right.

There's something not right.

He almost jumps down off the wire to check what's going on, but then catches himself. Fifty feet down might be faster, but it sure as hell wasn't going to leave him in one piece. Instead, he pauses on the wire and moves to turn around.

The wire shakes more than it should and he realizes someone else has gotten on at the other side.

"Rachel?" he squints, confirming, "Rachel, you need to get off the wire, it's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Rachel scoffs, taking another step. She's fully on the wire, now, "You really want to talk about danger?" She points to the ground, at the white sheets that leave knots in his stomach that he doesn't understand. "You put them there."

Dick stumbles back on the wire as memories flash in his mind.

"I didn't-" he can't finish before the circus twists around him. He's down near the bodies under the sheets all of a sudden, and he can't remember how he got down. The wire trembles slightly above him, and Rachel is nowhere to be seen. Air whirs behind him and he turns quickly on a whim. A throwing star whips past him, drawing blood on his cheek, a thin line that stings only slightly. Jason is standing in front of him, a terrified expression on his face.

"What did you do?" he demands, his voice shaking, _"What did you do?"_

The kid looks so scared Dick actually holds his hands up, showing that he's unarmed.

It's only then when he sees the blood all over himself and the floor. The red mingles with the Robin suit he's wearing, acting as some sort of macabre camouflage.

The bodies are lying on a cold stone floor, white sheets covering their faces. There is a red steadily seeping through them, though, and Dick approaches them slowly.

Jason makes a small sound in the back of his throat that might have been a whimper, and it kind of makes Dick want to be sick. Nevertheless, he carefully peels back the sheet, revealing the face of his foster father.

_No._

Bruce Wayne is lying on the floor of the Batcave. Dead.

"Stay _away from them_!" Jason screams, giving him a shove. He keeps advancing, but Dick holds him back by the shoulders. There's a horrible sense of deja vu here, and all he can think is that _this can't be happening_.

That's when he realizes the sheet has shifted a bit off the other body, uncovering the arm. It's not much, but it's enough. A glimpse of a crisp black suit, a cracked watch face, a wrinkled hand.

"Alfred?" he calls, voice breaking. He can't feel the wetness through his uniform, but his hands are slick.

Robin's not wearing a mask.

Jason's managed to loosen Dick's grip and he lunges for him again.

"Why?" he hisses, "Is this enough? Are you free now?"

_No._ Dick wants to say. _No, this isn't what I wanted._

His hands reach out on their own, and suddenly, Jason is lying slack on the ground next to him, eyes open, body limp. He's dead.

They all are.

They've escaped, they thought it was all over, but they're dead.

Everyone is. Every time, everyone except Dick.

Deathstroke appears, circling him as the bodies double, triple, multiply forever. Everyone he's ever met, everyone he's ever spoken to, ever loved.

They're all dying or dead.

"I told you, Grayson," Slade Wilson whispers from behind him, "You always live, even when the good don't."

He gestures to Jericho, Rachel, Gar. The green haired boy has dark bruises on his throat and as Dick looks down at his hands in horror, he can see little scratch marks where Gar tried to pry his hands away.

Kory is propped up on the side of the wall, next to Donna. There's no way he could kill them, either of them, they've helped him so much, and they're too powerful and-

They're dead.

"You don't deserve them," Slade mutters, "And they're going to notice soon."

With the last word, he plunges one of his curved swords into Dick's chest inches from his heart.

That's when Dick starts to scream.

* * *

He's barely awake in his bed, trying to get the _white covers_ off of him, because he's not dead, he's not, even though it might feel like it inside. His palms sting, but he clamps his mouth shut before any sound can escape it and focuses on lying limp. The covers seem to relax their hold on him, and he looks to the side, watching Rachel sleep peacefully in the other bed.

Little breathes heave out of her mouth every few seconds, and Dick watches her for a couple of solid minutes before his eyes begin to burn. He feels numb, on edge, as if he's waiting for something to happen. As if he's been waiting for things to happen all along, and even though things have happened, it's not what was supposed to happen. That thought doesn't make sense, even to him. He should know by now that running isn't the answer, but he has the urge to leave the hotel room, even just for a short walk. Just get somewhere where he can't hurt anyone anymore.

But if he leaves, he doesn't trust himself to come back in.

Running a hand through his sweaty hair, he inspects his burning palms. Five neat crescent moons line each palm, each welling up slightly with blood. One of them seems a bit deeper than the others, and it slowly stops to well over.

The feeling of blood on his hands is eerily familiar, and entirely unwelcome. He gags, dry-heaving, but he hasn't eaten anything today, and his body honestly doesn't have enough energy to throw up. Instead, he presses his head against the wall, trying to think of nothing at all.

Needless to say, it doesn't work.

At least his mind isn't tricking him, making him see monsters in shadows and hear voices. After that dream, his subconscious is probably all worn out. Decisively, he pushes the covers away and stands up, swaying only slightly. Instead of heading towards the door, he walks to the room's small, questionably clean bathroom, pulling out the cheap burner phone that had been burning a lump in his pocket.

He had broken his phone in the fight with Trigon, screen cracked clean through, but he had managed to swipe a burner phone when the gas station worker hadn't been looking. After all, being seen buying a burner kind of defeated the whole purpose of it.

He made sure to tip extra for it, though.

Dick powers it on, sliding to the ground with his back leaning against the bathroom door. The floor was no cleaner than the rest of the room, but he had to make the call. If he was being honest, he wanted to make a bunch of calls, to everyone he had seen, or hadn't seen, but he couldn't disturb anyone, and even though Bruce, the only one awake at this time, would pick up a burner number, he didn't feel up to talking to him.

Trying to calm his racing heart, he checks the time. 1:19 AM. He's only been asleep for a few hours, and he's still exhausted, but he can't think of going back to sleep.

He'll only see the same faces again.

* * *

In the end, he nearly chickens out, but he decides to call Kory before he can do anything stupid. He'd memorized her number without even thinking about it, but after he dials and hears the first ring, it's so loud that it jars his thoughts.

What if she's asleep? What if she's in the middle of a fight, and this distracts her, and-

"What's going on, Grayson?" Kory's voice comes from the burner, slightly distorted but preserving its positive quality, "Everything okay?"

He lets out a breath and closes his eyes, leaning back against the door. "How did you know it was me?"

On the other side of the line, Kory laughs. She has no idea, no idea what it means that she can come through this and still laugh.

"Who else is going to call me this early on a phone number I don't recognize?"

Dick felt the ghost of a smile on his face. "Yeah, I-" his voice broke.

"Grayson?"

Dick let out a shuddering breath, pressing the phone to his cheek. "I can't do this, Kori, I just can't."

"Dick, what happened?" Kori's talking faster, and he can't really tell through the terrible quality, but that might be concern in her voice, "Come on, talk to me. Is anyone hurt? Are you hurt?"

"No," he whispers, "No, I'm just- it's- it's really nothing, I'm sorry for waking you up."

Kori starts to say something, but before she can finish, someone interrupts her.

"Is that Dick?" Donna's voice asks. Kori must have nodded, because suddenly, Donna's on the phone, too.

"What's wrong?" Donna asks quickly, and Dick wants to laugh, he really does, but it comes out more like a choked breath.

"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks, and suddenly, he feels so, so stupid for calling, for hiding in the bathroom like he's afraid of himself, like he doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do.

Donna just sighs. "Come on, Dick, I always know when something's wrong. Older-"

"Yeah, I know!" he says, probably more rudely than he had wanted to, "I know, okay?"

He scrubs a hand through his hair and tries to remember why he called in the first place.

"You're both okay, right?"

"Dick, you saw us, like, a few hours ago. Are you okay?" Donna's always been good at this, at seeing through the lies even when he can't, of getting him to tell the truth.

He lets out another shaky breath. "No. I'm not. I can't do this, I can't stay with these kids and I can't teach them to be better than we were, Donna. As long as I'm with them, everything's going to be wrong."

"Dick, Slade's dead," Donna says, in the gentlest voice possible. A worm of guilt festers in his heart. She still doesn't know, none of them know, the real story of how Jericho died. They can't know how much of it is his fault. He ruined their lives, he knows, and he just keeps doing it.

"Okay, give me the phone," Kori's voice is soft, "Dick, do you remember what you asked me when we first met?"

"Something along the lines of, 'Where's Rachel?"

Dick can practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. "No, after that. You asked me where I was from."

"And you didn't know," Dick shrugs, "So what?"

"And you didn't know where Rachel was from, but you still wanted to help her."

"Yes, but-"

"Dick, you're one of the good guys. It doesn't matter where someone's from or who they are, you always want to help them," she says, "That means you're good."

Dick lets out a sharp laugh. He doesn't know how exactly, she knew that was what he needed to hear, but at the same time, it's not enough. He's not enough, even though she is.

"People don't always try to hurt other people," his voice sounds foreign, "They do, anyway."

"You're an idiot," Donna interrupts, and Dick grins, despite himself, "You're not who you were years ago, and you just helped save the world. Cut yourself some slack, and go to sleep. Text us in the morning, okay?"

"Bye, _Mom_," Dick rolls his eyes, but he can't deny that he feels lighter, and more like himself, "And bye, Kori. Thank you."

"Anytime," the quick response comes. The line stays on for a few seconds longer, then clicks shut.

If they're alive enough to boss him around, they're really alive. That's what Dick can promise himself to do, for himself, for all of them. He can help them live, train them to be better than him, to have their own lives, and to not get lost in all of the violence.

He's not perfect, but he doesn't need to be.

He just needs to help.

He'll never be able to right the wrongs he's caused, take back the hurt that he's created, but he can try to soothe it, to teach people to learn from them.

He can be a Titan again.

* * *

He doesn't know how long he sits there, leaning against the bathroom door, just thinking about how he could do this, how he could start fixing things, for everyone. The only thing that startles him out of his stupor is Rachel's voice, coming from the room.

"Dick?" she calls, then her voice turns urgent and loud, "Dick! HELP!"

Immediately, he's off like a shot, throwing the door open, staff at the ready, in a battle position. He curses himself for not keeping watch, for allowing himself to drop his guard. What he sees, though, makes him drop his staff and rush towards Rachel.

She's not yelling right now, but her eyes are closed, and she's clearly asleep, taking deep labored breaths.

There's also the matter that she's hovering a few feet above the bed, and surrounded with a ring of purplish black shards of energy. There's no one else in sight. She's clearly dreaming, but that doesn't make it any less dangerous. He can't fight his way through the shards, and he can't exactly walk through it. He can't hurt her, and hurting himself wouldn't help the others either.

Rachel lets out a sob. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and Dick isn't sure who she's talking to, but that doesn't change the facts that she's breaking his heart.

"Rachel, you're safe," Dick promises, "But you need to wake up, do you hear me?"

Rachel lets out another sob. "I didn't mean to!"

Dick's hands clench into his fists, making the small cuts on his palm sting a bit more. She can't hear anything he's saying, and there's _nothing he can do._ This feeling of powerlessness is familiar, but that doesn't make the burn of shame any less.

He can't fail these kids. He can't fail Rachel.

So instead, he stands as close to the shards as he can and whispers, "I'm here, Rach, I'm not going to leave you. I won't leave you, you hear me? I promise."

His voice breaks, but the curtain of shards thins, just a little, so he keeps going. He tells her about the Titans tower, and how much she's going to love San Francisco. He tells her about fun things, stupid things, settling down, cross-legged, on the floor next to the bed as he speaks. He speaks for the better part of an hour, running his voice slightly hoarse. The shards start to thin, turning transparent and shifting slightly. Rachel lowers a few inches at a time, but he still doesn't dare stop talking until she's completely on the bed, and the shards have all disappeared.

She sniffs in her sleep and shifts to her right side. Dick lets out a little laugh. Somehow, through all this, she's managed to stay asleep. That's good; she deserves all the rest she can get, and then some. There's no evidence of anything having happened, the gem isn't glowing in her forehead, and she looks peaceful.

That's when he realizes he's not going to tell her about this. After seeing how excited she was to be normal, Dick refuses to be the one that ruins her life like this. She'd been dozing in the car, and nothing like this had happened. It had probably been a one-time thing, a product of the long day she'd had. It wouldn't happen again, he promised himself as he yawned slightly.

Rachel deserved to have the life she wanted. Not controlled by him, a demon, or anyone else. That was what all the kids deserved, and that was what he would stay to give them.

He promised.

* * *

**A/N: What's up? Looks like things have started to look up, in my life, and in the fic! Hope everyone is staying safe**!!!

**Next**** chapter is Rachel, and I'm going to try to get it done sooner. Comments are good for the soul!**

**~ S**


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